Carolyn couldn’t talk about it anymore. She didn’t understand why Mitch wanted to know the details. How would that help? She wanted to be angry at someone, but other than Danny, she didn’t know whom to be angry at. It was all too new; it didn’t seem real and at times it almost wasn’t—and then it would come flooding back. She tried to preoccupy her mind with the things she had to do for her friend that day.

The burden of making most of the arrangements had fallen to Maryann, who was barely more than a kid herself, at twenty-two, and so she had asked Carolyn to help her prepare for the funerals. Today was Thursday; they had decided not to hold a wake, and both the funeral service and the burials were planned for Friday.

It was strange enough to be burying her best friend, but to think about burying her friend and her child (to say nothing of Danny, who was, after all, a friend for most of her life) was just bizarre beyond comprehension. However, Carolyn felt an odd comfort in being useful in some way. She knew Rachel would be there for her if the roles were reversed. What would Rachel like to wear? she wondered. Oh, no! What a stupid thought! Oh, Rach, if only you were here. What a laugh you would get out of me sitting here trying to figure out what you’d “like” to wear to your funeral. You’d probably say, “I’m dead, girlfriend! I don’t give a damn what I’m wearing!” She couldn’t laugh for fear of crying.

She glanced over at Mitch. He was concentrating on driving and she could tell he was trying to figure things out by the knit of his brow. Her husband. The father of her children. The person who shared her bed, burdens, and joys. How she loved and trusted him.

How awful to think that Rachel and her child were set upon by the man who should have been the protector of the family. Did he kiss her goodnight? Did he tuck the boys in? Did he lock the doors to make sure they were safe? What was it that sealed their fate? She wished she could stop these thoughts from rolling over and over, and concentrate on the tasks at hand.

Her reverie was broken when Mitch brought up the subject of the eulogy and his dream again. “Honey, I’m telling you that it was so real. Like she was right there. She told me to convince you to do it, and that she would be there with you.”

“Oh, Mitch, we’re both starting to imagine things. It was just a dream. I don’t think I could say more than a few sentences before I’d start to cry all over the place, and make a fool of myself, and make everyone feel really uncomfortable.”